|Joyce Vincent. Died alone and lay alone for three years.|
Joyce, who was born in Hammersmith in 1965, had been by all accounts a very beautiful young woman who died alone and unloved despite having been the centre of many other people's worlds. The problem was that they had all - former boyfriends, work colleagues and family members - simply assumed she had moved on to the next great adventure that her very full life and obvious talents would lead you to think would be the case.
One journalist decided to pursue the story after the rest of the world had forgotten and moved on and has produced what is an incredible film, charting the story of Joyce's life. A chance meeting with one of Joyce's former boyfriends in Shepherd's Bush began to unravel the story. I find this story deeply troubling both for the individual tragedy it represents but also because it asks very serious questions about how anonymous we can all become in a city of 8 million people.
I have two very elderly neighbours and had good cause to be very worried about one of them only this week, to the point where I was bashing on their door at 6am. A false alarm, thankfully. But do have a look at this article in the Guardian and the film trailer below - and think about at least one person you could check up on in the week ahead. If only for Joyce's sake.